


As You Lay Dying

by FelOllie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Because Stiles is a good guy, Cheating Stiles Stilinski, Episode Tag: 4x12, First Kiss, M/M, Minor Braeden/Derek Hale, Minor Stiles Stilinski/Malia Tate, This just wouldn't leave me alone, i guess, just a little though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2014-09-12
Packaged: 2018-02-16 23:04:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2287781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FelOllie/pseuds/FelOllie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven excruciatingly long days since Mexico: Take Two, and Stiles still couldn't get the sound of Derek's breath rattling wetly in his lungs out of his head. He heard it in his sleep, over the the pounding rain and the sound of Malia breathing softly beside him. He heard it when he was wide awake, over the din of crowded hallways and classrooms, cutting through the noise of the last lacrosse game of the season and the bustle of the locker room.</p><p>One hundred and sixty-eight hours, give or take, and Stiles had yet to wipe the sight of a bloodied and dying Derek from behind his eyelids. He saw it with every blink and sometimes even when his eyes were open and each time it made his chest feel like it was caving in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Maybe It's Been Here All Along

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: This just wouldn't leave me alone.
> 
> There might be a second part? If people want that kind of thing? It would involve penises... 
> 
> Anyway, here you go!

A week.

Seven excruciatingly long days since Mexico: Take Two, and Stiles still couldn't get the sound of Derek's breath rattling wetly in his lungs out of his head. He heard it in his sleep, over the the pounding rain and the sound of Malia breathing softly beside him. He heard it when he was wide awake, over the din of crowded hallways and classrooms, cutting through the noise of the last lacrosse game of the season and the bustle of the locker room.

One hundred and sixty-eight hours, give or take, and Stiles had yet to wipe the sight of a bloodied and dying Derek from behind his eyelids. He saw it with every blink and sometimes even when his eyes were open and each time it made his chest feel like it was caving in.

Ten thousand plus minutes since Derek _evolved_ , shed his human constrains and came roaring back to life on four legs, beneath a thick pelt of deep black, and Stiles still couldn't make himself believe that he was really alive, that Derek was really and truly still _here_.

The two of them had yet to see one another since their return. Stiles was under tight watch by his father, never able to slip his surveillance for more than an hour or so at a time. Then there was Malia, of course. She knew something was off, Stiles could tell. She was more careful around him, more restrained than normal. If pressed, Stiles would say she seemed to be waiting for something, but he had no idea what.

Derek, for his part, was busy learning what he was capable of with his new found power. Shape shifting, taking on the full wolf form, was something Stiles knew Derek never thought he'd be capable of. Talia, his mother, had been able to do it, as had Laura, but Derek always assumed he'd have to be an Alpha to accomplish it. After sacrificing his Alpha power in order to save Cora, Stiles knew Derek had given up all hope of ever gaining the ability to go full wolf. Stiles thought, not without a prickling sense of jealousy, that Braeden was probably the one helping Derek learn his new power. 

So, while Scott had seen Derek a few times since Mexico, Stiles was left with nothing but the image of Derek sprawled out and bleeding to death in the middle of the desert. He had nothing but the unfamiliar tingle beneath his skin, the itch he couldn't seem to scratch, driving him crazy the longer he went without at least laying eyes on Derek. 

Stiles was restless and antsy, his skin feeling too tight around his bones, his mind skittering closer and closer to a panic attack as he lay in his bed, starfishing in the hopes that it would make it seem less cavernously empty with no one beside him. Malia had offered to stay, to sleep beside him as she'd done so many nights before, but Stiles brushed her off, claiming a migraine and the need to catch some serious sleep.

That was much earlier in the evening, before the sun had even begun to set. Now, well after midnight and way past sanity, Stiles gave up fighting the urgent push behind his ribs. Cursing violently under his breath, Stiles shoved himself out of bed and into a pair of jeans, barely stopping to push his feet into a pair of sneakers before he was headed out the front door and flinging himself behind the steering wheel of his Jeep.

He was out of the driveway and barreling off down the street before he even thought about leaving his dad a note, but he had only one thing driving him, one thing on his mind.

Laying eyes on Derek.

 

*

 

On the other side of town, just as listless and edgy and no more asleep than Stiles himself, Derek was propped up against his headboard, a book in his hands but no words reaching his mind. He read the same paragraph six times before he finally gave up and snapped the book shut with a sigh. He scrubbed a hand over his stubble, scratching at the hinge of his jaw before climbing out of bed and heading for the kitchen. He had just set the kettle on the stove and turned on the heat when the alarm went off.

Derek bolted for the table beside his bed, snatching up the pistol Braeden left with him and padding barefoot toward the loft's door. He was halfway across the room when the familiar staccato heartbeat, rapid and distinct, reached his ears and had the tension seeping out of his shoulders.

Dragging the door open before Stiles could knock, Derek caught him with his fist in the air, poised to do just that.

“Uh...” Stiles frowned, looking at Derek as though questioning how he'd gotten there. 

Derek arched a brow as he tucked the gun into the band of his sweatpants. “What are you doing here, Stiles?”

“What, a friend can't drop by for a friendly visit?” Stiles sniped, fidgeting in place as his wide amber eyes skittered around, looking everywhere but directly at Derek.

“At one o'clock in the morning?” Derek snorted, turning to walk back and deposit the gun in its rightful place.

“Still using guns for protection?” Stiles asked, stepping hesitantly over the threshold. “I thought the whole magic wolfitude thing would be enough.”

“It is.” Derek shrugged on naked shoulder. “I just haven't broken the habit yet. Braeden was pretty adamant about drilling it into me while I was human.”

Stiles gulped, glancing around the empty loft nervously. “Speaking of. Where is Braeden?” 

Derek heard the flutter in Stiles' heartbeat, could smell the tangy scent of nerves wafting off him, but couldn't even begin to decipher the cause. “She's in Mexico, I think. Chris called, said they might have a lead on the Desert Wolf. She went to check it out.”

“You didn't want to go with her?” Stiles pressed, twisting the hem of his t-shirt between his fingers. “I always thought of you as the type of guy who'd want to be there, you know, just in case he had to throw himself on a blade to save his girlfriend.”

Derek quirked a brow but didn't comment, too busy focusing on the almost painful sounding thud of Stiles' heart against his ribs. “Are you okay, Stiles?” Derek asked, narrowing his eyes at the younger man. 

“Fine.” Stiles answered too quickly, his pulse jumping up a beat. 

“Fine.” Derek echoed, curious and a little worried, but knowing Stiles wouldn't talk about it until he was ready to. “I was just making some tea, want some?” he asked, already walking back to the kitchen.

Stiles trailed after him. “Yeah, thanks. You have spearmint?” 

“I think so. Check the cabinet.” Derek pointed to the cabinet above the coffee maker, reaching for the kettle just as it started to whistle. He didn't say that he knew for a fact there was spearmint tea in there, didn't tell Stiles that he stocked it specifically because he knew Stiles preferred it.

They worked together in silent tandem, fixing their mugs and putting things away before Derek motioned for Stiles to follow him back into the living room. Once they settled on the sofa, Stiles curled in one corner and Derek in the other, turned to face him, Stiles seemed to find his words.

“I haven't slept since Mexico.” he started, pausing to take a sip of his tea. “Not more than a few hours, anyway. I can't close my eyes, Derek. Every time I do, I just...”

Derek shifted a little closer, knowing that Stiles responded well to proximity. “You just what?” he asked gently.

Stiles leaned forward to set his drink on the floor beside the couch, then turned in place, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. “I keep seeing you, dying. It's practically seared into the back of my eyelids, Derek. I see you dying and I hear your breaths getting shallower and shallower and it feels like I can't breathe, either. It feels like _I'm_ dying, like I'm suffocating instead of you and I can't fucking sleep.” His breaths were coming fast and short by the time he finished, his eyes glassy and wet even if he tried to hide them.

“Hey.” Derek put his mug on the floor and pushed himself across the sofa, putting his side right up against Stiles' legs. He reached out and curled one hand around the back of Stiles' neck. “Take a deep breath, Stiles. We're both fine, okay? Scott's fine, Lydia's fine, we're all fine.”

“I know that.” Stiles groaned, leaning back into the soothing touch at the base of his skull. “But Scott said he saw you, that you guys talked after we got home. And I didn't, I didn't see you. I just keep seeing you die, Derek. That's all I've got, you know? The memory of you dying and me walking away from you, leaving you to die alone.”

Derek's chest ached with the pain he could smell clinging to Stiles like a cloak. The teen reeked of pain and guilt, a combination of scents Derek himself was all too familiar with. His wolf whined, desperate to comfort, but Derek forced him back.

“I told you to leave.” Derek reminded him, rubbing a thumb soothingly at the dip of Stiles' nape. “I told you to find Scott, to save him.”

“I know.” Stiles sniffed, blinking rapidly as though it would somehow stop Derek from seeing the tears clinging to his lashes. 

“And, I wasn't alone. Braeden-” 

Stiles' sharp bark of gritty laughter cut Derek off. “Yeah, I know that too.”

Derek frowned, his thumb stilling in its stroking. The tone of Stiles' voice was off, a hollow sound that Derek hadn't heard since Isaac and Scott were attached at the hip for the better part of a year. 

“...Stiles.” Derek began haltingly, wanting to ask but maybe not wanting to know.

Stiles practically vaulted off the sofa, long fingers digging through his hair until it was standing up in all manner of wild disarray. “Don't, Derek. Okay? Just. Don't.”

Derek stayed where he was, his fingers itching to follow the paths Stiles' own digits had created. He wanted to do something, anything, to soothe the frayed edges of whatever was making Stiles smell like confusion and pain like Derek hadn't known since right after the Nogitsune, right after Allison. 

“Stiles, tell me what you need me to do.” Derek tried, sitting forward on the couch and leaning toward him with his elbows on his thighs. 

Another ragged bout of laughter, another sheen of wet eyes, and Stiles stopped pacing the floor, turning begging eyes on Derek and making his heart flip into his throat. 

“You know what you can do, Derek?” Stiles practically sneered, some of the venom lost in the tears pooling along his bottom lashes. “You can tell me what the fuck is going on inside my head right now. You can tell me why the fuck I can't sleep, why I can't look my girlfriend in the eyes anymore without swallowing back guilt that I don't even understand.” He was practically shouting but he didn't seem to care. “Tell me why I can't breathe when I think about you dying, about you leaving me here without you. Tell me why my chest hurts when I think of you being here with Braeden, and why I am so fucking confused that I'm not even sure what I feel anymore. Tell me, Derek! Tell me that I'm stupid and that this will go away, that I'm not head over heels in love with a fucking werewolf with a martyr complex and a fucking girlfriend!”

Stiles was panting by the time he finished, his eyes wider than saucers and his expression just as shocked as the one Derek wore. The flush riding high on his cheeks brightened when he realized what he'd just said, and Derek could hear his heart thumping wildly in his chest.

“Shit.” Stiles' face crumbled, his lips quivering as he turned on his heel and headed for the door. “Forget that I just said that, okay? Forget I was even here.”

He was less than three feet from the door when Derek gathered some of his wits around him and flew across the room, planting himself between Stiles and the door like an immovable wall. “Wait, Stiles. Just wait a minute.”

Stiles stopped, his eyes fixed on the floor and the bitter scent of embarrassment hanging around him like a cloud. “Derek, please. Just forget it. I didn't mean it, alright? I'm sorry.”

“Stiles, stop.” Derek snapped, relief flooding through him when Stiles bit back his words and actually met his eye. “Don't go.”

“Look, this is not a conversation that we actually need to have.” Stiles backed up a step when Derek stepped forward. “I know how stupid this is. I am not dumb enough to think you have feelings for me. Hell, I don't even know when the fuck I caught feelings for you. But, it's not a big deal, okay? You're with Braeden and I'm with Malia, and that's... That's good. You and I are just friends, I know that. So, can I just go home and crawl into a hole of mortification and maybe suffocate myself with a pillow?”

“She's not my girlfriend.” Derek blurted, the words spilling from his lips even though that hadn't been at all what he'd meant to say. 

Stiles backed up another step, nearly falling down the stairs before Derek caught him by the elbow and hauled him back up. “What do you mean she's not your girlfriend? Did you guys break up?” Stiles asked breathlessly, his heart practically jackhammering against his ribs.

“No, it's not... It's not like that. We're not like that.” Derek tried to explain while ignoring the rushing sound in his ears and the heat throbbing through his veins. “She and I... We care about each other but... It's not a thing. I mean, it's a thing but it's not a _thing_.”

“That made literally no sense.” Stiles scrunched his face up in confusion.

Derek exhaled sharply, trying to clear his head of the scents Stiles was radiating. “She's not my girlfriend, Stiles. She's a woman that I care about and occasionally sleep with, but that's... She's not my girlfriend.”

“Ooookay.” Stiles frowned again, trying to tug his elbow free from Derek's grip. “That's... Whatever. Can I go now?”

“No.” Derek growled, low and rumbling. “You just said you were in love with me.”

“Yes. Yeah, I appear to have dropped that particular bomb.”

“But you took it back.” Derek bared his teeth, flipping their positions so that Stiles' back was to the door and Derek was pressing forward into him.

Stiles gulped, eyes flicking between Derek's eyes and his mouth. “I didn't take it back, exactly. I just sort of... Invalidated it maybe? Like, just a little.”

“So, which is it?” Derek asked softly, his brows questioning in the way that only Derek seemed able to pull off. “Either you're 'head over heels in love' with me, or you're not.”

“Dude, I willingly put myself in the back of a prison transport van, on a full moon, with a beta who has yet to master control, just so I could be there to protect you. You tell m-”

The rest of his words were silenced by Derek's lips crashing into his. Derek's fingers dug into his hips, no doubt leaving behind bruises that would take days to fade. Stiles strained into the touch, his hands coming up to curve around Derek's neck and sink into the short hairs at the back of his head. Shoulders digging into the cold steel door, Stiles let Derek pull him in tight to his bare chest, felt the hard planes of Derek's body and the sharp jut of his hipbones as their hips collided and Derek's hands burned hot through the thin fabric of Stiles' t-shirt.

“Wait.” Stiles groaned, pulling away enough to try and catch his breath.

“What?” Derek questioned, his voice rough and just as breathless as Stiles'. “What's wrong?”

“Malia.” Stiles grimaced. “I can't... We can't do this to her, Derek. She deserves better than that.”

Derek flinched, the reminder that Stiles actually did have a girlfriend, was dating Derek's cousin of all people, sending ice water through his veins. “Right. Yeah, okay, I understand. Just forget-”

“No!” Stiles shouted, wincing as his voice echoed through the loft. He continued in a much lower tone, “No, that's not what I meant. I just... I have to talk to her first. Let me talk to her before this,” He waved a hand between their still inappropriately close bodies, “goes any further.”

Relief crashing through his system, Derek nodded quickly. “Absolutely.” he agreed. “Talk to her. I can wait.”

Stiles smiled softly, leaning in to press one last lingering kiss to Derek's lips. He held Derek's head in place, pressing their foreheads together and simply breathing in the same air. “I should go.” he whispered, a whine hitching in his chest.

Derek chuckled, squeezing Stiles' hips once before releasing him and taking a few steps back. “Go. Come back after you talk to Malia. I won't... I'll still be here, Stiles.”

Stiles whimpered at that, forcing himself to turn and grab the door handle. “Tomorrow. I'll be back tomorrow.” he promised, stepping through the doorway and turning back to get one last look at Derek.

“Tomorrow.” Derek smiled, the wide open, knee-weakening smile that Stiles was sure he fell in love with well before he'd even truly known what an amazing person Derek was.

Stiles made himself slide the door shut, made himself walk down the hallway and climb into the elevator, forced his fingers to hit the button for the ground floor and ride the elevator down. Once he was back behind the wheel of his Jeep, Stiles blew out a shaky breath and argued with his fingers until they turned the key in the ignition and guided the Jeep out of the lot.

All the way back to his house only one word kept echoing in his head, sending warmth flooding his limbs and butterflies fluttering in his belly.

Tomorrow.


	2. Will You Love Me When We Wake?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part Two, as promised!
> 
> Also as promised? PENISES!
> 
> As always: If you need me to tag/warn for anything else, please, please, _please_ DO NOT hesitate to let me know!
> 
> Enjoy <3

“Will you stop pacing and just sit down.” the Sheriff sighed, leaning back in his chair at the kitchen table and laying his open newspaper in front of him. 

Stiles groaned low in his throat but still folded down into the chair across from his dad. 

“What's up, kid?” John asked, his brows drawn together in concern. “What've we got this time? Is it dragons? I keep waiting for someone to tell me we've got dragons.”

“Dad.” Stiles couldn't help the bubble of laughter that popped through his lips. “It's not dragons. It's not even anything supernatural, really.”

The Sheriff lifted both eyebrows expectantly, waiting for his son to just spit it out, whatever it was.

Stiles wanted to talk to his dad about the situation with Derek and Malia. He really did. He just wasn't sure where to start. Stiles liked the idea of closing his eyes and praying it all just went away more than he liked any of the hundreds of ways he'd thought of how to start this conversation. 

He knew that if his mom were there she would know exactly what to say without Stiles having to tell her anything at all. She'd know how to help him figure out the best way to handle it without hurting everyone involved and ruining everything in the process. But, his mom was gone and his dad was here, ready to listen and willing to do whatever he could to help.

With a resigned sigh, Stiles let his head fall forward so that he didn't have to meet his father's eye and tried to find a way to explain. “Dad, have you ever... How did you know that Mom was the one?”

John slipped his reading glasses off his nose, setting them on the table beside the newspaper. He eyed Stiles suspiciously, his eyes narrowed and his gaze unwavering. “Stiles, I think you're a little too young to be thinking about marriage.”

“What?!” Stiles balked, lifting his head and staring at his father in horror. “No! Dad, Jesus. No, that's not even close to what I'm talking about.”

Relieved, the Sheriff crossed his arms over his chest and waited patiently for Stiles to work up the courage to talk about what had him so edgy.

“I'm in love with someone.” Stiles said, his face a pretty good imitation of the first time Claudia had given him a lemon wedge. 

John smiled at the memory, and smiled wider still at the fact that his son was experiencing his first real love, rather than the odd fixation he'd had with Lydia. “I know, kiddo. I think-”

“I'm in love with someone who is not my girlfriend.” Stiles clarified, the words spilling out of his mouth so fast they twisted and tangled together in the air. 

His father stilled, blinking in surprise. “Stiles.” he cautioned.

“I know, okay? I know how bad that is, how much of an asshole it makes me.” Stiles moaned pathetically, shame and guilt swelling up to choke him. “But, that doesn't change anything. It doesn't change the way I feel about him.”

“Him?” John asked, one brow cocked curiously. 

Stiles made a face, his nose crinkling and his eyes squinting into little slits. “Derek.”

“Huh.” John frowned, his lips turning down at the corners as he contemplated that. 

“That's it?” Stiles asked incredulously. “That's all you have to say when I tell you that I'm in love with Derek freaking Hale?”

“Does he feel the same way?” 

Stiles hesitated, the memory of Derek's lips crushing over his and the way his hands felt wrapped around Stiles' waist bringing a faint blush to Stiles' cheeks. “Yeah. I think so.”

“Alright.” John nodded, pushing up and away from the table.

“Wait! Where are you going?” Stiles questioned, standing to follow his father into the hallway.

The Sheriff turned to his son, laying a hand on his shoulder in silent support. “I'm willing to bet that the reason you've been pacing around the kitchen for the last half an hour is because Malia is on her way here and you're planning on telling her about Derek.” he guessed.

Stiles nodded, chewing the inside of his cheek. 

“So, I'm going to go to the station and let you kids have some privacy to work things out. You don't need your old man hanging around while you do this, Stiles.” John gave him a solid pat on the shoulder before moving away to shrug into his uniform jacket.

Stiles watched him head for the door, a lead ball of sickening anticipation rolling around in the pit of his stomach.

John stopped with his hand on the doorknob, turning back to face Stiles to offer one last parting statement. “Look, kiddo. I know that this isn't an easy thing to do, to hurt someone you care so much about. But, you're doing the right thing. Telling her is the only way to avoid hurting her more in the long run. I'm proud of you for doing the mature thing here.”

“Really?” Stiles asked, warmth blooming in his chest. “I thought you'd be disappointed.”

“Stiles, you can't help who you fall in love with.” John smiled softly, images of Claudia flickering through his mind. “The best you can do is be honest with yourself, and the people in your life, and hope it all turns out.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Stiles choked out around the knot of emotion in his throat. 

“Anytime, Son.” The Sheriff nodded, a fond smile on his lips as he opened the front door and walked out.

Stiles stood in the hallway for a long time, thinking about how lucky he was to have a father who supported him so completely. Some kids didn't have that kind of support in their lives, and Stiles knew what a blessing it was, especially after having lost his mom. Who knew what kind of trouble Stiles could have gotten up to if he didn't have his dad at home waiting for him.

After a while, Stiles shuffled back into the kitchen and let himself out through the back door. He dropped down onto the steps of the back porch, his eyes wandering the line where his yard cut off and the woods sprang up. He watched the slightly too long grass wave in the breeze, listened to the sound of tiny feet scampering over the forest floor.

He was slipping backwards into heated memories of the night before, the feeling of cold steel biting into his shoulder blades, the slick slide of Derek's tongue twining around his and the way arousal had spiraled through him like a hurricane, when the sound of the gate opening dragged him back to himself.

Malia came around the corner of the house, one of Stiles' flannel shirts tied up beneath her breasts over a white tank top and her long tan legs bare in a pair of cut-offs. She smiled at him, a ghost of the smiles she used to give him. Stiles wondered if she could already smell the nerves on him.

“Hey.” he croaked out, straightening up in place and trying to swallow his heart back down to where it belonged.

“Stiles, you reek.” Malia propped her fists on her hips and stopped at the bottom step, just two stairs down from where Stiles was sitting. “What's wrong?”

“I need to tell you something, and you're not going to like it, but I need you to try and understand.” Stiles rushed to say, his heart hammering hard in the hollow of his throat and sweat making his palms slippery.

“You're not dying are you? I wouldn't like it if you died.” Malia reasoned. After a long pause where she simply tilted her head and inhaled, she spoke again. “Is that why you smell like Derek?” she asked, wrinkling her nose. 

“No, that's. Wait, why would me dying make me smell like Derek?” Stiles asked, baffled by that leap and willing to latch onto anything in order to prolong the inevitable just a little bit longer.

“I have no idea.” Malia shook her head, her shoulders falling. “But it has to be better than what my brain is thinking.”

Stiles swallowed hard, guilt swamping him and making his stomach turn. He hadn't thought it would be easy, telling her that he was in love with Derek, but he hadn't really thought about how much it would hurt, either “Malia, I-”

“Don't say you're sorry, Stiles.” Malia commanded, her voice eerily calm to Stiles' ears. “It doesn't really mean anything, anyway. To be honest, I've been waiting weeks for you to tell me what was going on.”

“It hasn't been weeks.” Stiles defended weakly, unsure whether or not he was actually lying. 

“It has.” Malia argued evenly, the only hint to her emotions in the flash of her blue in her eyes before she schooled it. “Ever since Lydia predicted his death, you've been different. You're distracted and you smell different, like part of you is broken. You don't pay nearly as much attention to me as you used to. And this last week has been worse. It's like I'm not even there, Stiles. I feel like you're looking right through me.”

Stiles opened his mouth to apologize, to say that he was sorry for making her feel that way, but thought better of it. “What do you want me to say?” he asked instead. 

Malia looked at him, her expression hard and unforgiving even with her eyes glistening with sadness. “Just tell me the truth. Say the words so we can stop tiptoeing around this and get on with our lives.”

“I...” Stiles had to stop, tamp down on the empty, consuming ache in his sternum. “I really am sorry, Malia. I don't know if you'll believe me, but I care about you. You'll always be the girl I almost fell for.”

“But.” she said, seemingly preparing for the worst.

Taking a deep breath to steel himself, Stiles stood up and walked down to meet her. Looking her right in the eyes was the only way he felt he could do this, the very least that she deserved. “But,” Stiles admitted softly, “I'm in love with Derek.” 

He expected her to punch him, like she'd done at Eichen House. He almost wanted her to just so he could feel the pain somewhere other than deep inside his chest, like a chasm he had no hope of ever filling in. If she hit him, if she growled and flashed her eyes and took it out on him as a coyote instead of the girl he almost loved, he might feel less like the scum of the Earth than he did when she just stood there, nodding absently and blinking too fast.

“God, I am so sorry, Malia. I never meant to hurt you.” Stiles said, aware of how lame and cliché the words were but not able to think of anything else to say.

“I believe that.” Malia told him, meeting his gaze and offering a watery smile. “I don't think you ever wanted to hurt me, Stiles.”

They stood in painful silence for a long time, neither one of them really wanting to walk away for fear of ending something they knew they'd never get back. 

Malia broke the silence first. “I don't think we should see each other for a while.” she said, her voice strong and clear through the thickness of tears.

“Yeah. Whatever you need.” Stiles agreed immediately, eager to do whatever she asked of him right then. 

Malia opened her mouth but no sound came out, whatever she wanted to say seemingly sticking in her throat. She cleared it gently, her gaze skipping between Stiles' eyes. “Did you know that love, that kind of deep affection, has a scent?”

Startled by the unexpected question, Stiles frowned in confusion. “No, I didn't know that.” 

Malia nodded, her smile brittle. “When we were looking for the Buddhist pack, Derek taught me how to identify scents. There was a weak scent that always clung to Kira and Scott that I could never put my finger on. When I asked Derek about it he told me that it was love, or all the things that add up to love, anyway. It made sense for Kira and Scott but...”

“But?” Stiles asked, not following her train of thought but curious despite himself. 

“I never understood why I could smell it on Derek.” Malia shrugged and Stiles could swear on his life that he felt his heart crack. “Now I do.”

 

*

 

It wasn't like Derek hung around his loft all day just waiting for Stiles to show up. He just didn't really have anything to do all day, other than... Hanging around his loft, waiting for Stiles to show up.

Around noon he made himself a sandwich and killed time by watching a few episodes of Game of Thrones, decidedly not letting his mind wander to the night before and the way he'd pressed Stiles into the door. He definitely didn't let himself think about the way Stiles felt pushed up against him, skin ablaze and mouth seeking kisses like lungs sought air. 

By two o'clock Derek's traitorous brain started conjuring worst case scenarios. What if Stiles changed his mind? What if he chickened out and couldn't break things off with Malia? What if he did tell her and Malia ripped his throat out? With her teeth? Wolves and coyotes were known for being extremely territorial when it came to their mates. Stiles and Malia weren't officially mated but maybe that didn't matter to Malia. 

Worse than that...What if Stiles just wasn't coming? What if he had time to think about everything after seeing Derek, alive and well, and decided that he really didn't feel the way he thought he had? What if Stiles realized he was too good for someone like Derek, someone who was fractured and hollow in places and simply broken in others?

Hauling himself out of bed, Derek searched the loft for a better distraction than the inside of his own mind. He'd already made his bed and cleaned almost the entirety of the loft, save for the bathroom since that was his least favorite chore. He was just about to cave and dig out his rubber gloves from beneath the kitchen sink when the easily recognizable tick of Stiles' engine reached his ears.

Derek's belly swooped down toward his toes and his pulse took off at a race. He waited impatiently for the engine to cut off and listened while Stiles climbed out and headed for the building. Derek cocked his head, listening. Stiles' heartbeat was sluggish, nowhere near its typical hummingbird cadence. Things with Malia must have gone worse than Derek had anticipated. He felt a stab of regret at his part in hurting her, the instinctual need to protect family making him feel like shit for being the one to cause her pain.

Just like the night before, Derek met Stiles at the door, dragging it open before he could knock. Stiles looked up as the door slid sideways, his eyes bloodshot and raw in a face paler than Derek would like.

“Hey.” Stiles whispered, his throat clawing at the word in an attempt to keep it in. 

“Hey.” Derek said gently, stepping back so that Stiles could come in. 

Stiles didn't say anything else as he moved into the loft, didn't so much as mumble a word as he crossed the living room and thumped down heavily on Derek's empty bed, face first. Derek watched him with sympathy, closing the door and going to sit on the floor beside the bed. 

“That bad?” Derek asked cautiously, reaching out to brush a hand through Stiles' wild hair. 

A grunt was his only response from where Stiles had his face mashed into the mattress. 

“Is she okay?” 

Another grunt, this one sounding a little rougher. 

“Right. Stupid question.” Derek grimaced. “Are you... Do you need anything?” 

Stiles turned his head then, letting Derek see half of his face. “If I say 'Yes, Derek, I need you to come lay down with me and tell me that I'm not literally worse than Hitler.' will you judge me?” 

“Yes.” Derek answered, one side of his mouth twitching. “But I'd do it anyway.”

Stiles kicked off his sneakers and rolled sideways, curling into Derek's side as soon as his back hit the mattress, tucking an arm around his waist. Derek wrapped an arm around Stiles' shoulders, pulling him in close and letting Stiles pillow his head on his chest. 

“I'm a terrible person.” Stiles mumbled into one of Derek's pecs.

Derek huffed a humorless laugh. “Sometimes.” he agreed. “But, this isn't one of those times, Stiles. You couldn't have done anything other than exactly what you did.”

“You weren't there. You didn't have to watch her cry, Derek. I did that. Those tears are my fault.” Stiles sniffled miserably, pressing his nose into Derek's chest.

“But you cared enough to be honest with her. Hitler definitely wouldn't have done that. One plus in the Stiles column.” Derek grinned at the ceiling. 

Stiles laughed thickly and against his will, squeezing his arm tighter around Derek's abdomen. “Asshole.”

Derek looked down at the top of Stiles' head, imagining he could see the smile fighting its way onto that perfectly curved mouth. “I'm sorry that you had to hurt her. She's family and I hate that she's the one who got hurt in all of this. But... I wouldn't take it back, Stiles. Not if it meant not being here right now, with you.”

Stiles sniffed again, tilting his head back so he could press a dry kiss to the edge of Derek's jaw. “Remember that in a few months when you want to rip my head off because I keep leaving socks all over your loft.” he said, pressing his face into the side of Derek's neck.

Derek ignored the wave of warm satisfaction that engulfed him at the idea of Stiles still being there months from right then, and the content, humming feeling in his every muscle from having Stiles nuzzled into his throat. “I'll kick your ass when we get there.” he murmured, instead.

Stiles chuckled, the sound muffled in Derek's skin. “Promise?”

“Promise.” Derek smiled and held him tighter. “Close your eyes, Stiles.”

“Don't tell me what to do.” Stiles mumbled, already well on his way to sleep.

 

*

 

When Stiles woke up it was dark, long shadows falling across the loft floor, painting the concrete in varying shades of gray. The only light came from the waning moon hanging high in an inky black sky, casting Derek's face in pale contrast to the darkness surrounding them. 

Stiles shifted around in place, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into the cut of Derek's hip where his hand had slipped beneath the fabric of his Henley while they slept. Derek stirred when Stiles freed his leg from where it had gotten trapped between Derek's knees. 

“Sorry.” Stiles whispered, smiling softly when Derek turned onto his side and pulled Stiles flush against the solid wall of his chest, tucking Stiles' head up under his chin, his strong arms banding around Stiles' back like clinging vines. 

Derek's chest rumbled, rough and sleepy. “'S fine.” 

Breathing deep, the scent of warmth and comfort laced with the earthy scent of Derek himself, Stiles let the heady air settle deep within his lungs as Malia's words floated to the surface of his thoughts. 

“Hey, Derek?” Stiles asked into the dip of Derek's throat, his voice a hushed breath in the quiet room.

“Hmm?” Derek hummed, his fingers dipping up the back of Stiles' t-shirt to trail delicately over bare skin.

“I'm not a wolf.” he started.

“'M aware of that.” Derek mumbled on a nearly silent exhale. 

Stiles poked him in the ribs, his eyes rolling in their sockets. “I mean, I can't smell things the way you guys do. I have to count on words and body language to figure stuff out.”

Derek grunted his acknowledgment, his hand spreading wide and singeing in the small of Stiles' back. 

Stiles' head swam with arousal from just that phantom caress but he held fast to the thoughts he was trying to express. “But Malia can smell things, just like you guys.”

Derek's kneading fingers stalled, his attention peaked. “... Right.” he said, pulling back so that he could look down at where Stiles was tucked against his body. “So?”

“So, she said something today, when I told her about you. About us.” Stiles paused, making sure Derek was following. At Derek's expectant look, Stiles said, “I didn't know that love had a scent.”

Derek's brows furrowed over a contemplative frown. “Yeah, sort of. It's not one thing, though. It's sort of a composite scent, a blend of emotions that signify a strong bond and deep affection.”

“Right, she said that, too.” Stiles gnawed his bottom lip, adding hesitantly, “She also said that she's smelled it on you. For a while, apparently.”

Derek's eyes clouded over briefly and then cleared, like it was an automatic response that he had to correct. “Okay.” he said slowly, his heart thudding a quick, nervous beat.

Stiles sighed, a soft puff of humid air that danced across Derek's bobbing throat. “You don't have to say it, Derek. That's not where I'm trying to go here. I just... I love you, you know? And that's a terrifying thing to admit, in and of itself. But I do and I will, probably for the rest of my life. That's how Stilinski's do things. My mom's been gone for years and years now, but my dad loves her just as much now as he did the day he married her.” 

Expecting the weight of the world to settle on his shoulders with those words, Derek tensed. He waited for the rush of fear, the long ago ingrained terror of committing to something so profound, to hit him. Part of the reason Derek had fought his feelings for Stiles so aggressively was because he'd know this already. The way Sheriff Stilinski felt about his wife was obvious in every shadow, every line of the man's face. He still wore his wedding ring for Christ's sake. The man didn't seem to be capable of letting Claudia go, and somewhere deep inside his soul Derek had known Stiles would be the same. The idea was both terrifying and thrilling, the two forces warring against one another for as long as Derek could remember being in love with Stiles. 

But the fear never came. Where he expected to feel the fight or flight instinct kick in, where he waited for the burst of panic to take over, Derek felt only a strange sense of peace wrap around him. The idea of having Stiles in his life, of having Stiles in his bed, for the rest of their lives made Derek's heart trip in the very best way, gave him something to hold on and look forward to. Derek was surprised just how much he wanted it, wanted the future Stiles was offering.

“Anyway,” Stiles said, breaking into the sudden epiphany Derek was having, apparently unnoticed, “My point is that whenever your ready, if you're ever ready, I'll still be here. Okay? I'm not going anywhere, not if I can help it.”

Derek loosened his hold on Stiles, sliding down the bed a few inches so that they were eye to eye. He brought his hands up between them, cupping them to either side of Stiles' neck, his thumbs at the hinge of Stiles' jaw tilting his chin up so that Derek could lean in and capture Stiles' lips with his own. The kiss was docile compared to the surge of want Derek felt sparking to life in his gut, a gentle suck of Stiles' bottom lip between his, the silken glide of Derek's tongue as it swept out to taste the pink fullness.

Stiles moaned and Derek swallowed it down, his tongue skating over Stiles' teeth to dip in and lick around the warm slickness of his mouth. Fingers on one hand digging hard into Derek's hip while the fingers of the other snaked beneath his t-shirt to skim up the soft ridges of Derek's abs, Stiles tilted his head, opening his mouth just a little wider to grant Derek all the access he could possibly want. 

They sank into one another, drowning in the ease with which their bodies fit together; How perfectly Stiles' hips slotted into the cradle of Derek's pelvis, how snugly Derek's thigh settled into the subtle flare of Stiles waist when Derek wrapped his leg around him, the flawless feeling of Stiles' hand where it fit like a missing puzzle piece in the shallow valley of Derek's sternum. 

“Stiles.” Derek whispered on a strangled sigh, his body buzzing like a live wire as potent tendrils of desire rippled out along his nerves. “Tell me. Jesus, I need you to tell me that this is what you want.” he all but begged, one hand slipping between them, just the tips of his fingers sneaking under the waist of Stiles' jeans. 

With a sharp breath sucked between his teeth, Stiles' abs clenched and quivered. “Fucking yes, Derek.” he whined, his pelvis rocking forward and earning him a hiss from Derek as their cocks dragged together through their jeans. “If you don't touch me I swear to God, I might actually die.”

Chuckling, Derek popped the button of Stiles' pants, the zipper gliding down without resistance. “Well, we can't have that, can we?” he teased, laying his palm flat over Stiles' treasure trail and, moving at an agonizingly slow pace, pushing it down the front of Stiles' boxer-briefs. 

When Derek's fist finally closed around Stiles' straining cock, Stiles gasped. He shuddered at the assault to his senses as Derek began to move his hand, nipping and sucking his way down to Stiles' neck at the same time.

“Fuck.” Stiles whimpered, helpless to the way his hips bucked into Derek's hand, fucking into his fist despite the dry roughness of his grip. “Please.”

Derek licked a hot stripe just above the collar of Stiles' shirt, his tongue igniting Stiles' skin and sending a cascade of burning embers pouring down his spine. “I knew you'd taste amazing.” Derek crooned over the pulse hammering beneath his lips, pressing damp kisses to heated skin to punctuate his words. “You smell so fucking good, Stiles. I knew you'd taste even better.”

“Holy God.” Stiles panted, his breath rushing out in a sudden gust when Derek rolled them and his back hit the bed. He blinked up at Derek hovering above him, still thrusting into the tight channel Derek's hand created. “Naked.” he decided. “We need to be naked, like, right fucking now.”

He whined pitifully when Derek pulled his hand away but was quickly pacified when Derek simply knelt above him to rip his shirt off over his head. Stiles struggled to follow suit, getting tangled in fabric and flushing from head to toe when Derek had to help free him.

“Not a word.” Stiles warned, narrowing his eyes at the way Derek's chest was shaking with silent laughter. 

“Wouldn't dream of it.” Derek said, trying not to chuckle but grinning just the same as he reached for the button of his own jeans. 

Stiles smacked his hands away. “This entire thing is a waste if I'm not the one that gets to take your pants off.” he explained at Derek's quirked brow.

Divesting Derek of his jeans, and then having Derek immediately return the favor, Stiles let himself go limp against the mattress, reveling in the heat generated between their bare skin when Derek lowered himself over him. Their cocks grazed together as Derek nestled his hips between Stiles' spread thighs and they both groaned at the contact.

“Better?” Derek asked, nuzzling into the thin skin behind Stiles ear, his stubble rubbing deliciously at Stiles' sensitive flesh.

With a shiver that sent goosebumps erupting over his skin, Stiles nodded emphatically. “Better. So much better. Now come back and kiss me.” he demanded.

“Bossy.” Derek remarked, smirking as he bit sharply at the cluster of moles along Stiles' jaw.

“Whatever.” Stiles snorted, rolling his hips up in search of friction. “Like you thought I'd be submissive.”

Lust flared bright and lava hot in Derek's belly, coiling around the base of his spine and winding through his veins as visions of Stiles, spread open and just waiting for Derek's cock, ass high in the air and begging to be fucked, assuaged him. Derek's cock dribbled pre-come into the bed of soft curls at the base of Stiles' dick. 

“I wonder who likes that idea more.” Stiles said, his tone lilting and knowing as he leaned up to brush his lips to Derek's throat before biting down around a straining cord of muscle. “You?” he whispered into Derek's skin, “Or your wolf.”

The growl that ripped up from deep in Derek's chest resonated in Stiles' bones. Grinning, he tilted his head back, his chin in the air and his throat glowing white in the pale light from the moon. Derek's stomach tightened in anticipation as he stared at Stiles' offering, the desire to bite, the desire to mark, making his head swim.

“Go ahead, Der.” Stiles taunted huskily, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. “We both know I won't submit to anyone but you. Mark me. Show everyone else what's yours, what belongs to you. Let them see, Derek.”

Eyes flashing electric blue, a sound that was halfway between a snarl and a whine caught in Derek's throat as he gave into what Stiles was asking of him. He shoved one hand between Stiles' back and the bed, pulling him up into his body as the other fisted in Stiles' hair and yanked his head back. Stiles cried out when Derek's teeth sank into the slope of his neck, his arousal thickening and swirling around them like an oncoming storm.

“Shit.” Stiles panted, hips jerking up to meet Derek's as he rutted down. “God, yes. Derek, come on. I need you inside me.”

Derek licked at the deep imprints of his teeth, lapping at the skin that would bruise so beautifully before the sun even began to slink over the horizon. He nosed at the mark, making sure that it carried his scent like a signature. Satisfied, he leaned up, drinking in the glassy eyed stare and the kiss swollen lips of Stiles below him.

“Are you sure?” Derek asked, already reaching for the nightstand, for the bottle of lube he kept in the drawer there.

“Shut up and fuck me, Derek.” Stiles said, grinning wide and punch-drunk. 

Derek couldn't help but grin back, even as he slithered down Stiles' body, bottle of lube in hand, and laid between his raised knees. Stiles wriggled in place, sighing contentedly while Derek planted hot, open-mouthed kisses along the insides of both thighs and slid one lube-slick finger between Stiles' cheeks. He didn't push through the tight clench of muscle, just pressed at it gently, teasing it open with achingly soft touches.

Stiles gasped and whined, breath punching out of him when Derek's lips closed around the leaking head of his cock. “Fucking Hell.” he panted, writhing in place to stop himself from shoving his cock down Derek's throat. 

Derek hummed around him, sucking and swirling his tongue as he bobbed his head. Stiles moaned, long and loud, and pushed his fingers into Derek's hair, clenching hard and tugging sharply when Derek took him into the back of his throat and swallowed. The finger teasing at Stiles' puckered hole grew bolder, sinking past his rim and into the scorching clutch of Stiles' body.

“You're so tight for me, Stiles.” Derek said, letting Stiles' cock slip out from between his lips. “Fucking perfect.”

Stiles babbled incoherently, shoving down on the digit thrusting in and out of his ass, begging for more. He chanted Derek's name, the occasional “more” or “please” interspersed here and there.

“Okay.” Derek soothed, running his unoccupied hand up Stiles' flank to calm him. “Okay.” 

One finger quickly turned into two, Stiles' body stretching to accommodate the welcome intrusion. He bucked as Derek scissored his fingers inside him, working him open as patiently as either of them could stand. Stiles was a sweat slicked, burning wreck by the time Derek worked him up to three fingers. He shouted each time Derek's touch glanced over his prostate, stars exploding behind his eyes each and every time. His orgasm was already wound tight in his belly, waiting for someone to pull the trigger to send it tearing through him like a bomb blast.

“Derek, please.” Stiles begged, keening brokenly when Derek sucked him back down and trickling little spurts of pre-come on the back of Derek's tongue. “I'm gonna come down your throat if you keep that up.” he warned. 

The vibration of Derek's rolling growl had Stiles squeezing the base of his cock like a vise to stop himself from shooting off with a whine. In a blur of movement Stiles had no hope of following with his eyes, Derek moved from flat on his belly between Stiles' thighs up onto his knees, his thighs pressed flush to the backs of Stiles'. He moved around to find the right angle, lifting Stiles' ass and shoving a pillow under him.

He paused as he hovered over Stiles, one hand on his cock to spread an extra layer of lube down his shaft and one beside Stiles' head, holding him up. “Do you want me to wear a condom? I have them if-”

“No.” Stiles was already shaking his head, hooking his ankles behind Derek's back and urging him forward. “I know we're good, just get inside me before my fucking head explodes.”

Pushing into someone else, sinking into that gripping heat, had never felt so much like finding the place you'd belonged all along than it did when Derek bottomed out inside of Stiles. They fit together so faultlessly, their bodies giving and taking in a way neither of them knew was even possible, that both of them froze for the briefest moment, taken by surprise by just how fucking amazing it was to be together like this, to feel like everything, all the bullshit and all the pain, it had all been leading up to that one moment of utter perfection. 

When Derek moved, Stiles moved with him, opposing forces finding a balance, a happy medium that worked for them. Sweat built between them with every thrust, every piston of Derek's hips, every lift of Stiles' ass to take as much of Derek's cock as humanly possible.

“Yes. Just like that, Der. Just like that.” Stiles choked out breathlessly, meeting him thrust for thrust.

Derek hooked his arms around Stiles' thighs, shoving them up and back, spreading Stiles open beneath him so he could pound into him. He caught Stiles' lips with his own, kissing him messily but with as much love and frantic passion as he could muster. Stiles kissed back eagerly, his nails digging long red scratches from Derek's shoulders down to his ass.

“Come for me, Stiles.” Derek panted, wet and ragged into Stiles' mouth as he fucked into him with sharp snaps of his hips. “I want to feel you come around me.”

Stiles whimpered, shoving a hand between them to wrap it around his dripping cock. “Oh my God, Derek.” he gasped, vision swimming as his brain misfired and molten heat poured through him. 

A litany of curses and Derek's name spilled from Stiles' lips as he shoved his face into the crook of Derek's neck and bit down, shooting hard between them as his back bowed away from the bed and he striped both of their stomachs with sticky ropes of come.

Derek's wolf rolled over and bared his belly, willing and eager to submit for Stiles' teeth at his throat. Half a dozen desperate thrusts later and Derek followed Stiles over the edge, snarling his name as he buried himself to the hilt and shot his load deep inside Stiles' spasming body, his orgasm raging through him and laying waste to everything in its path.

Unable to hold himself up on trembling limbs, Derek let himself collapse on Stiles' chest, his face smooshed into damp skin. His tongue flicked out to taste the salted flesh, satisfaction shuddering through him with the traces of come he lapped from Stiles' skin. 

“I want to tell you that that is absolutely disgusting, but if you stop I swear to God I'll punch you once I regain the use of my arms.” Stiles informed him, through jagged breaths.

“Noted.” Derek said, sucking gently at one puffy pink nipple.

Stiles huffed a whiney breath at the overstimulation but his cock still gave a heroic twitch of interest. His muscles fluttered around Derek's softening cock, making a sub-vocal growl rumble in his chest. Carefully, Derek slipped out of Stiles' ass, wanting back in as soon as the cool air in the room touched his blood hot skin.

Stiles cringed as come trickled out of his hole and his body tried to clench around nothing. “Well, that'll take some getting used to.” he sighed dramatically.

Derek chuckled as he shifted sideways, draping one leg across Stiles' hips as he snuggled up beside him. “Good thing we've got time.” he said simply, dropping a kiss to the ridge of Stiles' collarbone before letting his head fall against his chest.

Stiles ran a hand through Derek's sweaty hair, tugging gently. “Yeah.” he agreed, a content fullness in his chest making him grin openly at the ceiling. “Good thing.”


End file.
